


Alternative Dispute Resolution

by livingvakariouslythroughyou (supercow585)



Series: How To Reconcile [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Identity Reveal, Reconciliation, Romance, karedevil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 18:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9336836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercow585/pseuds/livingvakariouslythroughyou
Summary: My take on what happens between Matt & Karen after the blackout at the end of season 2. A reconciliation fic in which Matt apologizes, Karen processes, and they decide try to work things out.At the suggestion of a helpful comment, now a one-shot fic that is part 1 of the How to Reconcile series (instead of being a multi-chapter fic).





	

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm very late to the Daredevil party, but I came bringing Karedevil, so hopefully that helps. This ship hit me like a Mack truck, and I am now simply a conduit for the whims of my muse. I have several stories in the works and countless more ideas. Here's hoping my fingers can keep up with my imagination. This is my first time writing this pair, so I hope I've done them justice. Please feel free to give me any constructive criticism that you have. I hope you enjoy!

Sometimes there is no way to win, even when you're right. Even when you've battled and fought, and tried so hard to make things work, to make them better. Sometimes all you get from those battles is a litany of bruises, nasty scars, and regrets. Lots of regrets. She has learned this lesson before and looking at him, now that she really sees him for all that he is- for _who_ that he is- she knows that he has too. Many times over. But she thinks this time just might hurt the most. For both of them.

\--

She almost didn't come, almost blew him off. Again. Almost told him that she didn't want to hear it, whatever he had to say. But that would have been a lie. Or if not a lie, at least a half truth, and there hasn’t been enough of that between them at this point. If she’s asking for honesty, she might as well try to be honest with herself. And, well, she did kind of sign up for this, once upon a time.

_Okay, um… Let’s say this- when, or if, you ever feel like you can tell me what’s really going on with you, I promise that I’m here. Is that a deal?_

It feels like it was eons ago. Before the train wreck of the Punisher case, before the second (and decidedly more final) falling out with Foggy, before her makeshift family fell apart at the seams. But she has decided to be true to her word. Because if she really wants the truth- ( _the whole truth, and nothing but the truth… so help me God_ ) -then he deserves the truth from her too. Well… at least about this.

She is reflecting back on this train of thought and how she ended up in this room with him as she blinks helplessly against the reality of both the first and last thing she wanted to hear from him when he walked in that door just moments ago...

_I have something that I need you to see._

_I'm Daredevil._

A few beats pass as her brain attempts to process his words. She tries to take stock, tries to wrangle her thoughts into coherence, and as she starts to, she finds that she doesn't expect what she’s left with. Not at all.

Because she doesn't think she's surprised. Baffled, maybe. Curious, definitely. Probably even incredulous. And there’s a healthy dose of anger there too. But she’s not surprised, not really. Because being surprised would imply some amount of shock at the revelation.

_What the hell happened in here?_

That she didn't have any inclination of it.

_And no one beat the crap out of you either, I’m guessing._

No sneaking suspicions.

_How many times can I hear that you fell down the stairs or you walked into a door?_

That she is completely caught off guard by this news.

_You know that I’m not an idiot._

And most of all, that she hadn’t somehow hoped with every fiber of her being that this was the truth.

_You’re okay?_

That she hadn't wanted it to be true so much that she practically prayed for it.

_Better. Now._

But that would be a lie too.

( _No more of those now, remember?)_

So she pushes on, continues to try to put all of her thoughts together with the new pieces that she has to add to the puzzle. And as they all fall into place and she accepts that she isn’t surprised, the overwhelming emotion that she feels- the one that is bubbling up in her chest and pushing itself to the forefront of her mind like a battering ram- is relief. A bone-deep, all encompassing sense of relief. And, oh, is it sweet- like surfacing from the depths and sucking in a breath after fearing that she’d been doomed to drown. And that, more than anything, is what surprises her.

But it probably shouldn’t.

She supposes she hadn't been very honest with herself about how much she wanted whatever was going on with him to be something like this. Something … _big_. Something important. Something worthy of the bruises and betrayal and broken relationships. Something real. Bigger than her. Than him. Bigger than them.

She is loathe to admit that in her darkest moments- when she was the most angry, the most faithless- her mind had gone down some very dark paths, worrying that some truly terrible things might true about him. That maybe he _was_ an alcoholic. Or a drug addict. Or a manipulative womanizer. Or, worse still, that maybe he was wrapped up with the kind of scum that she had thought he was just as disgusted with as she was. The gangs. The organized crime families. The drug runners. The assholes running prostitution rings and human trafficking operations. The baddest of the bad guys, lurking in the shadows with pockets deep enough to work the puppet strings for a whole city of people. The Wilson Fisks of the world. The seediest of the seedy in the underbelly of the city that doesn't ever seem to get snuffed out.

In the end those fears had been wrong. So wrong. And though she isn’t religious, she says a silent prayer of sincere gratitude to a God that she is just starting to think might actually exist. ( _Maybe_.)

She can’t believe how much more simple this makes things… though, on second thought, that might be a stretch of the definition of that word. Because it does bring to light a host of new complications and a legion of questions that have started burning on her tongue; but it also means that she was not wrong about him, about what kind of man he truly is. That he's not as terrible deep down as she had feared he might be. Or at least if he isn't quite as good as she once thought, it's not without cause. And as far as causes go, this one is pretty damn noble- at least to her.

Because, yes, she had recently started to doubt Matt, but she had never doubted _him_. Or, rather, the “Devil”. He who seemed to have no fear and an endless desire to cut down the bad guys on his quest to save the weakest and most vulnerable in the city. Just as he had saved her from the assassin the first night they met. Or when he’d broken through that warehouse window to free her and the rest of the hostages that had been rounded up- people he had already saved once and whom his enemies had tried to use against him.

She had believed in everything that _he_ stood for, all _he’d_ done. She had even said as much, and in front of him no less, when she was still blind to the truth that now seemed almost painful in its obviousness.

_I’ll take the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen over Fisk any day. Plus, he kicks ass._

Knowing Matt was the man behind the mask didn't make it less true, though the memory of it now made her blush. But it also reminded her of where she was in this moment and who she was with; it reminded her how that person, the one she had cared about and been hurt by, and the hero, whom she'd cheered for and been saved by, were actually one and the same.

If she had learned (or was still learning) anything from Matthew Murdock, it was this- that sometimes life, and the best people and things in it, could be dialectical. Contradictory. Light with the dark. Good with the bad. Love with pain. Balance. Duality. She knows now that you can’t pick and choose. Having one means having both, and having both means believing in and supporting the Devil despite the fact that she hadn't always agreed with Matt or his decisions in order to become it.

She decides she can accept this complexity from him and the whole situation over the alternative. Especially considering her own complexities. After all-

_I’m no saint..._

That had been true, though it had only been half of the story. But if anyone knows a thing or two about half-truths, it’s him.

_...I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that._

Well. Now that he was telling her the other half of his story, maybe now she could get around to telling him the rest of hers. Maybe-

She catches herself, remembering that this is not the time for _that_ conversation. And yet maybe now there would be time for it. Maybe there could finally be the space for it between them. Eventually. After they worked through all of this. _(One set of life-changing revelations at a time.)_ But after they reach an understanding, and after she gets some answers- which-

She realizes that she has been standing silent for who knows how long as her thoughts spooled out of control. As she comes back to the moment and looks up, she sees his face. Sees the anxiety there, though it’s really closer to terror at this point. Sees the vulnerability and the unspoken apology all working together to contort his expression into one of anguish, and she thinks she understands something that has been bouncing around in the back of her head for a while. And she finally knows how she really feels, beneath the relief and frustration, the anger and hurt. How she has felt for some time now.

… _You love him, right?_

_You can’t hide that._

_You love him._

Not a lie, as it turns out. Though she had been keeping it from herself for quite a while, trying to explain it all away. But then again, maybe she had always, on some level, known.

_You’re not alone, Matt. You never were._

At least that was no longer a lie. And if it's up to her, it won't ever be again. One way or another.

She takes a deep and steadying breath as she decides how to try to tell him everything that she is thinking and feeling. But it proves difficult. Really damn difficult, in fact. So she settles for a simple truth, no matter how much eloquence it lacks.

“Thank God.”

It comes out under her breath and more as a sigh than a statement. For a brief moment she’s worried that it wasn’t loud enough for him to hear, but then she sees him hear it as she watches the way he cocks his head, sees the tiniest of smiles flicker across his face, watches some of the tension bleed out of his body like an unfathomable weight is being lifted off his shoulders.

But as he processes the words, he seems surprised. He looks in the general vicinity of her face, eye-brows drawn and confusion in his voice. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“Just that. That I’m … actually relieved.” She shrugs her shoulders as she says it because that’s all the explanation that she can offer right now.

But he’s not quite buying it, though it seems like _really_ he wants to. He pushes just a little harder this time. “So, you believe me? Just like that?”

Her laugh at that is mostly exasperation, but he catches some effervescent notes of the fullness and brightness that used to color the sound- back when things were easy between them- but they vanish in an instant. It hits him right in the gut, hurting just as much as it warms his heart. But he can’t say he truly minds. (He’s a good Catholic boy, after all.)

“Just about everything that has happened in my life since the night I met you has defied belief. I’ve had to change my definition of that word.”

His answering chuckle is it’s own kind of ghost- clipped and strained, mirth fleeting and strangled by the distance and everything else that still stands between them. He tracks the movement of her arms as she crosses them over her chest and steels his resolve for what he expects will be the beginning of a lecture that he can’t really deny that he deserves.

But it doesn't come. Not for now.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong- you're not off the hook yet. I have questions- a _lot_ of them. I still don’t understand _how_ it’s actually true, considering what I know- hmm, what I thought I knew about you. And I’m still deciding how I feel…”

She has to pause for air as she somehow managed to get all of that out in one long and strained breath. She breathes deep to calm nerves before she continues.

“But yes. I do believe you.”

His whole demeanor shifts as she says it, and she is blindsided by the way it instantly helps months of her own tension and anger recede.

“You have no idea how-”

“I’m just glad it wasn’t something… worse.”

They start speaking in tandem, rapidly as though both attempting to get out the words that they will lose their nerve to say if they don’t come out _right_ _now_. But he trails off as he actually hears what she’s saying. And when he does, he can’t help the scoff that he lets out.

“Worse?” He’s not sure that it’s a good or a bad response. There’s an attempt at keeping his voice even and light, but it’s pretty half-hearted. He can’t seem to keep out the whisper of fear that leaks in.

She hangs her head and bites her lip at that, chagrined. But if they're really being honest, he deserves to hear it.

“I just- you know you’ve been so secretive, so withdrawn, and such an _ass_ with all of this. I just thought that whatever it was that was going on with you would have to be something pretty damn … _big_ . Big enough to make you throw everything away and to explain all of the stupid decisions you’ve made. And in terms of something big, something that I could at least understand- and maybe, _maybe,_  even forgive you for choosing over me and Foggy and the office… well, this is pretty much it.”

Even with his super senses, he is still capable of getting caught off guard, displaced from the moment as he gets fixated on a specific sensory input. He finds himself obsessing over a particularly meaningful word in her statement and gets lost in his thoughts for several seconds before he can direct his focus back to the present. When he does, he blinks a few times, attempting to lock away the hope that is threatening to bubble over in his chest. Because she had mentioned _forgiveness_...

He hadn't allowed himself to consider that yet. He was was too concerned with getting through this part, and too beaten down to try to hope for a possibility of some sort of reconciliation after. He gives a minute shake of his head to clear those dangerous thoughts before they can undo him and takes a breath that he hopes doesn’t sound as labored as it probably does.

“A sound argument. But, uh, what- what did you think it might have been, if not this?” He struggles to get the question out because he isn’t sure he really wants to hear the answer.

Her answering sigh and the anxious way that she runs her fingers through her hair tell him that she doesn’t think he'll want to hear it either. Still not a ringing endorsement for him, though he tries not to show his fear, save for the white-knuckled fist he is now making with his free hand.

“I don’t know, Matt. I really don't. I was just so worried and frustrated and, eventually, just really pissed. On the days when I was feeling less charitable …” The silence stretches on, growing more uncomfortable with each second, but the words just won't come. Instead she hears the words she had spoken to him once before ringing in her head.

_Maybe you are an alcoholic. Maybe you’re in a fight club. Maybe you are sleeping with a whole harem of women..._

She thinks he remembers it too because he is suddenly staring a hole in the floor and his jaw has set in a hard line. “Yeah, fair enough.”

“Look, I'm sorry-”

“No, Karen, I’m the one who should be apologizing. Not you.” He takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes, then pinches the bridge of his nose as though to prepare himself for a speech. It's not all that unlike from what he used to do to prepare himself before walking into the courtroom. She can see some of the parallels in their conversation, and she's not sure if that is comforting or not.

She moves to lean against her old desk and holds up her palms, shrugging as she speaks. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m listening.” The way that she crosses her arms as she waits for his response is reflexive, and only partially inspired by some of the anger that is starting to boil in her blood. Because he's right- he does need to apologize.

He looks directly where she is sitting, his eyes almost in line with hers, though a little lower due to the slight duck in his chin. She thinks that it indicates that he is feeling ashamed, and she feels a little vindication at that, but it doesn’t last long.

“I'm sorry, Karen. From the bottom of my heart. And I am sorry for so many things- all of the lies and half-truths and secrets. Initially I didn't want anyone to know because I didn't want to put anyone I cared about in danger. I kept it hidden for some time, and I thought I had it all figured out, that I could keep it a secret indefinitely. But eventually I got overconfident. It was before I had the suit, and I got caught up in a fight with one of Fisk’s allies. He was a ruthless fighter, a literal ninja, and he had a knife. He cut me up pretty badly before I finally beat him. I barely made it home, and somehow Foggy found me, half dead on my living room floor. He demanded to know everything.”

Several more things click into place for her then. “The infamous ‘car accident’.”

It's not really a question, but he has the grace to hang his head, thus confirming her suspicions. He sighs deeply and restlessly starts turning the mask over in his hands, fidgeting with it in order to give him something to focus on other than his own frantic heart rate.

“I knew I needed to tell you too, but I was afraid, Karen. Afraid of making you a target or putting you in a difficult position legally if the police ever successfully investigated the man behind the mask. Plus, Fisk was still a very real threat, and I just couldn't allow myself to tell anyone else while he was still in power. We both saw how ruthless he was, always threatening the people closest to his enemies to exploit them and make them vulnerable. Every time we found someone else he hurt, or worse, all I could think about- all I could see was your and Foggy’s faces.“

He takes a breath and stalls for a minute as he convinces himself to continue. “But then, we did it. We put Fisk away, and I felt so vindicated. I was so sure that things were going to be better, easier after that. I started to let myself wonder and hope about… not always having to be alone with my secret. And you- I just couldn't resist you, Karen. I eventually forgot all of the reasons that I had forced myself to keep my distance from you. And then we started spending more time together, and went to dinner, and you were so wonderful and I wanted so much with you. I wanted so badly to be normal and let you in, to somehow tell you my secrets. But I didn't get the chance before a new enemy was creeping in and threatening to wreak havoc on the city.”

He suddenly feels suffocated as he attempts to recount to her the doubts that have plagued him and made him suffer so acutely over the last few months. The restless motion of his hands now shifts to the rest of his body as he walks to the other end of the desk, tossing the mask on its top with more force than he intended. The thud it makes as it lands seems to echo in the nearly abandoned space. That is its own source of pain, but he cannot bear to think on that right now. Instead, he stares derisively at the mask for a moment, hands on his hips in a familiar but pained pose. She stays silent and still, attention rapt on him.

“And I felt so selfish because I realized that it was wishful thinking for me to believe there would ever be a time when there wasn't a threat that I would have to face as Daredevil that wouldn’t expose you to harm because of me.”

His voice is getting thinner, threatening to waiver and betray him. He tries to breathe through it, to shove his emotions down as he has been trained to do. But then he remembers his purpose here, his offering of the truth, and he knows that he has to let her see how he is really feeling if he's going to be honest with her. He bites the inside of his lip as a single, traitorous tear rolls down his cheek.

“But I wouldn't- I couldn't let that happen. So I pushed you and Foggy away because it seemed like it was the only way that I could keep you both safe. I didn't feel like I had a choice. I still don't- not really. I tried to talk myself out of meeting you a hundred times on my way here. I don't know if this is the right thing to do, and I'm terrified of what could happen now that we've had this conversation. Because I would never forgive myself if you got hurt because of me.”

The single tear has grown into several and they are flowing more freely now, but he tries to ignore them and keep his voice as even as possible so he can get through the last few things he needs to say. He finds, though, that he needs some support to continue, so he leans one hand against the desk, the other drying his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. His limbs feel leaden and he is praying that he will feel some sort of relief when all of this is over. He takes a breath and steels himself to finish what he has come here to do.

“But it turns out that it’s too late. It doesn't matter if you know or not- you’re already hurt, one way or the other. Maybe not from a physical threat or an attack on your life, but because of me. Because you knew that I was lying and you didn't know why. All this time I was trying to protect you, but I had already hurt you. I hate myself for that. And I’m so very sorry. So to show you how sorry I am, I finally convinced myself that you deserved to know. Because if you were going to walk away and cut me out of your life, you deserved to have all of the facts so that you could make that choice for yourself. So you could know it was the right decision and so you wouldn't have to wonder. I owe you at least that much.”

He clears his throat and blinks away the last of the moisture there, and she can see, she can feel the sincerity of his words- and it steals her breath. She has seen this side of him before, this tendency toward masochism and self-blame and guilt when he isn’t capable of reaching the impossible ideals he holds for himself, but never with this intensity. She knows that she has every right to be angry, to rail against him and hurt him for all that he has done to hurt her, but she thinks that he really doesn't need her help in that department as he’s inflicted more than enough suffering on himself. Part of her is angry that he has already done this job for her, and as some of that anger begins to surface, her mouth starts working without her brain’s full consent.

“Is it a Catholic thing to be that good at self-flagellation or is that just another of your _special_ abilities?” It comes out a little sharper than she meant for it to be, but, she’s pretty sure she’s entitled to at least a bit of that.

He seems to have braced for it, so it doesn't hit quite as hard as she worried that it might. He straightens up, looks squarely at her face, and even attempts to insert some humor in his response. “It’s a little of both, I think.” She can’t help but smirk at that, and though he truly can’t see it, he feels it. And it feels like a victory. Or a beginning, at least. But he’ll take it, regardless.

“Karen, you have every right to be angry. I know I kept so much from you-”

“Yeah, no shit. But at the same time, I …”

She still can't bring herself say it, can’t explain to him that she has secrets of her own that she doesn’t know how to explain to him. Even now as he slowly pulls back the curtain, baring his soul and laying out his transgressions one by one for her to see, she doesn’t have the words.

What was the phrase that her grandmother had such a fondness for? _(People in glass houses…)_ Something like that. She hadn't had a reason to understand it until now.

She would tell him, she would. But not today. Today it was his turn to talk. Her turn would come later- maybe tomorrow or the day after that. So in the meantime, she works to calm the righteous indignation that has been simmering just under the surface of her skin. Not the easiest task, but in the last year and a half, she had learned so much about herself- that she is stronger and braver than she ever would have imagined, that she has a spine of steel and an iron will. She can do this. For him.

“Look, I know you must have had a reason, or probably several of them. I know you believe in what you do, and so do I. I always have. Yes, I am hurt and angry, but I’m not judging you. I can't. But I do want to know why... how… everything. I want the whole story. No more secrets. No more lies.”

It’s as much a promise to him as it is a request. She knows that they’ll both stay true to it this time.

The tentative smile that he gives as he nods in agreement is the brightest she’s seen from him in months, though it’s still only a fraction of what he is capable of. She has a sudden and intense longing to see his true smile- the one that is unburdened and candid and can light up a whole city block- and she thinks that it's completely unfair how the pang of it in her chest tempers so much of her ire. But more than anything, it reminds her that she is so fucking glad to finally be having this conversation. Because she hadn’t been willing to admit it until now, but she has missed him terribly. And maybe, _finally,_ she will get a little of the old Matt back. The one who charmed her and inspired her. The one she feel in love with. And that is definitely a victory.

He is standing tall again, no longer bowing under the burden he had been carrying, and he knows that this, too, is a victory. “I can do that, definitely. But there's a lot to tell, and some of it will probably be… difficult to hear. I’m thinking that maybe this isn’t the ideal place to have this conversation.”

She doubts that it will be easy to hear anywhere, but she can’t argue that this isn’t the most comfortable space. At least not anymore. And she can understand how it would be even more difficult for him to talk about everything while standing in the shadow of all that he’s lost (though hopefully this is the first step in attempting to get some of that back).

“So, what do you suggest?”

He opens his mouth as if to speak, but closes it again a moment later after huffing a laugh. “I’m not sure you’re going to like my answer.” He is smirking a bit now, and she is simultaneously surprised and comforted by how they are starting to slip back into their old rhythm.

“Why is that?” She leans back, hands on the desk behind her, her own smirk beginning to form.

He scratches the back of his neck at that, feeling a little bit caught. But he decides to test the waters to see how willing she is to trust him, how comfortable she is feeling with him now.

“Well, this isn't exactly a conversation fit for a public space. So, I'm sorry, but you’ll have to wait a little longer for that dinner I promised you.”

She chuckles at that, despite herself, and it assures him that she might just be willing to go with him, to hear him out. And maybe even trust him again, if he’s lucky.

“And if we’re leaving here, that leaves your place or mine. Now, I wouldn't want to be rude and invite myself over, but I also don’t want to sound presumptuous by assuming you'd be willing to come to mine. However, my place is closer… and you could see the rest of it. If you want.”

He has picked the mask up and is holding it out to her. She looks up, searching his face for a moment before she reaches out and takes the mask into her hands. It's smooth and slightly cool under her fingers, heavier than she had expected. She turns it around in her hands before she looks up and meets his eyes. Even if he can't truly see her, she thinks he can sense her gaze, and she wonders if he feels the same sense of deja vu about this that she does.

_It’s like i told Foggy- all we can do is move forward. Together._

They have both seen such terrible darkness in this city, and some of the worst of it alone. But not anymore. They have each other, now, and together there is no threat that they cannot face.

She takes a step toward him and takes one hand in both of hers as she returns the mask to him. Then she takes his free hand, sliding palm against his, fitting their fingers together.

“Well, I can't turn down an offer like that.”

The smile that breaks across his face as she says it is so bright and so happy- so hopeful. She too feels hope bloom in her chest at the sight, chasing away so much of the pain and anger that had been gnawing at her for the last few months, and all at once she understands. Frank had tried to talk to her about love once, but she couldn't fathom what he was trying to tell her then.

_People that can hurt you, the ones that can really hurt you, are the ones that are close enough to do it. People that get inside you and tear you apart and make you feel like you’re never going to recover._

They gather their things and step out onto the sidewalk, and as she looks out and sees night falling, the snowflakes still drifting, she feels a sense of serenity that she hasn't known in months. And with it comes the peace of mind that, for all his faults, Frank had been mostly right, at least about love. Though there seem to be things that even he didn't understand. But she does. She knows now that someone you really love may be one who hurts you like no one else can, but it’s also the person who can put you back together again. Who can help you decide to move forward. Scars and all. Together.

\--

Sometimes there is no way to win, even when you're right. Even when you've battled and fought, and tried so hard to make things work, to make them better. Sometimes all you get from those battles is a litany of bruises, nasty scars, and regrets. She knows this. So does he.

Sometimes, though, amidst the pain and the scars and the battle wounds, you find the means to carry on. Because sometimes you find the person who makes the pain bearable. And sometimes it's the very person who inflicted the pain in the first place. Sometimes that person is the one who picks you up and takes your hand and tends your wounds, their apologies and declarations the balm that soothes your aching heart. The person who chooses to stay- to battle with you and for you. The one who hurts you. Who hurts with you. Who heals you. Who loves you. Who stays with you through it all. She thinks this time might hurt the most for both of them, but this time they aren't alone. They have each other now. And scars or not, that feels like winning.


End file.
